


could you live with this disgrace?

by DragonEyez



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Frottage, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wall Sex, an interlude during "futura free pt. 1", we've all looked at grand and thought "everyone needs to be mean to him"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonEyez/pseuds/DragonEyez
Summary: grand gets whats coming to him, in a way





	could you live with this disgrace?

**Author's Note:**

> set during the scene on the catapult during "futura free pt. 1" bc i and everyone else simultaneously said "oh hey everyone needs to be mean to grand bc hes awful but i love him"
> 
> title from [hatef—k](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvGh4bETylM) by the bravery bc i wasted all my originality on insulting this garbage man
> 
> shoutout to art for consistently making characters that i can always use as an excuse to exercise my love of excessive commas and run-on sentences

In between the vapid comment of one of his hangers-on and the snarky reply of another, Grand saw the towering golden form of Fourteen Fifteen standing in the entrance of the lounge staring him down. Or at least, he thought they were. It was really hard to tell from a distance. With some excuse about running to the bathroom and a few flashes of his ever-charming smile, Grand managed to extricate himself from the crows of people and headed in the direction of a much emptier section of the Catapult, hoping Fourteen would get the hint and follow him. From a distance. Stealthily. Or at least as stealthily as a giant bejeweled synth could. Although, looking as they did now, Grand supposed they did fit into the opulence of those drawn to this station. As soon as he reached a corridor where nobody else was lurking, he jimmied the lock of a supply room and waited breathlessly.

When Fourteen had clanked their way into the room behind him, they shut the door firmly behind themself and Grand finally lost the composue he’d been tightly grasping. “Need I remind you that my ability to work from here only works if you’re not coming in here blowing my cover?”

He reached to poke Fourteen in the chest, but they grabbed his wrist and in an instant, their positions were reversed. Grand found himself with his back shoved against the door with Fourteen staring down at him, two glowing red circles piercing his eyes. Grand’s throat suddenly went dry as he began to mentally take stock of his predicament. The thrumming in his veins was nothing more than the fear of the unpredictable situation he’d found himself in and nothing else. Nothing.

“Need I remind _you_ , Grand Magnificent, that neither I nor anyone else are dependent on you. In fact, I would say it’s the other way around. You’re the one compensating for a poor decision you still insist on swearing up and down was your only option. So I would watch your entitlement, before someone less _forgiving_ than me comes along.”

Their grip shifted, and suddenly both of his wrists were being held above his head and one of their thighs was slotted between his legs. Fourteen said nothing, made no other moves, but Grand got the feeling that if they had eyebrows on this body, one of them would _definitely_ be cocked. They were watching him carefully, analyzing what his next move would be. The rational part of his brain told him that he could (and should) pull away, find out what they had come to say and then go walk around til he had control of himself once more. But that was drowned out by the part of him that _wanted_. That craved for someone, anyone, to treat him as they truly knew him, not like those who followed him around, fawning over the idea of who Grand Magnificent was to them. (And if he was already growing hard at the barest hint of that hot/cold pleasure, well, who could blame him?)

The edge of Fourteen’s thigh was sharp (of course it was, they were all angles and hard lines now, he wondered how Tender could stand it) but that didn’t stop Grand from rolling his hips, chasing the beginnings of pleasure. But before things could go any further, Grand felt their free hand on his waist, stilling him gently in contrast to the firmness of their grip on his wrists.

“Before we continue, is this something you want?”

Grand almost scoffed, but there was a seriousness to Fourteen’s voice that stopped him. Instead, he let out a very breathy “yes” and tried to grind down to emphasize his point. That seemed good enough for Fourteen, who removed their hand and allowed him to move freely once more. Or as freely as he could, given the situation. They made no move of their own to help him, seemingly content to watch Grand squirm on his own. 

They did, however, laugh.

“Look at you, pinned down and desperate. For all your showboating, all of your talk of bigger and better things, this truly is your natural state of being, isn’t it? Squirming and held down by somebody else. Your patron, the Doyenne, Cascara. _Advent_.” 

They spit out the last word, and Grand whined, closing his eyes and turning his head away from Fourteen, as if facing away would negate the reality of their words. Grand had never been a mastermind, never would be. Not in the technical sense of the word. He was an artist, yes, and then a trucker, and then an artist again. But for all his grandstanding (and oh he could hear Gig laughing boisterously at the pun, twisting something in his chest), he was only ever the tool of other people’s machinations. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Upon lack of a response, Grand found their leg hitched higher, pressing into his already painful erection. “Please.” He gasped out, too loud for the relative silence of the room. Realistically, anyone walking past could hear them, could easily guess at what was going on behind a not even locked door, but Grand didn’t care at the moment. The only things he could think about right then and there were the fact that he could feel a wet patch growing on the the front of his briefs, how much he wanted a hand on him (either his or Fourteen’s he didn’t care), and the solid presence keeping his wrists together above him. It was all slightly too much, and he felt the burn of tears coming to his eyes.

“Please what?” Fourteen sounded amused, like Grand was just a plaything they’d found a passing interest in and _oh_ didn’t that make Grand shiver.

“Please touch me.” He begged. “I need it.”

“Hmmm.” The hand encircling his wrists tightend just _slightly_ “I don’t think you do. I think you could manage to get yourself off just like this if you really wanted to. Couldn’t you?” Grand positively _keened_. “That’s what I thought.”

They brought their other hand up to his face, cupping his cheek and resting their thumb on the corner of his lips. Eagerly, he opened his mouth, accepting first one digit, then two then three. The taste wasn’t unpleasant, per se. In fact, it was much like when Grand had once upon a time held copper wires in his mouth while building mechs. Though this was much better.

“For someone who runs his mouth as much as you do, you’re incredibly silent now. Someone should keep you like this all the time; I quite prefer it. But then again, the people who would want to want nothing to do with you at the moment. A shame really. You’re beautiful when you’re not actively backstabbing anyone.”

Shame soured his mouth and settled in the pit of his stomach. It warred with his arousal until they were swirling around with each other and quickly became the sensation that could only be called the aching need for release. Fourteen moved their face close to Grand’s ear. 

“Imagine what all your Advent fans would say if they saw you like this. See, you’ve got them all fooled, but I’ve seen you for what you truly are time and time again. Grand Magnificent, peacock of the Catapult, reduced to a desperate mess who’s never actually been in control at all.”

That was what finally sent him over the edge. With a choked sob muffled by Fourteen’s fingers still shoved in his mouth and an aborted roll against them, Grand came apart, shaking against the door. 

A few moments passed before he could breathe deeply through his nose and center himself. At once, Forteen pulled away, wiping their hand on Grand’s shoulder as they did so. They watched him critically as he leaned back against the door, willing his legs to stop being jellyjuice and start having bones again.

“You’d better hope my suit isn’t ruined.” He complained when he finally had enough presence of mind to do so.

Fourteen was completely nonplussed. “The fascists can buy you another, I’m sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments and constructive criticism is always welcome, and i can be found [here](https://theunacceptablepylades.tumblr.com/) on tumblr or [@QueerlyDeparted](https://twitter.com/QueerlyDeparted) on twitter. and if you like what i do, consider buying me a [coffee](ko-fi.com/queerlydeparted) and checking out my [pinned tweet ](https://twitter.com/QueerlyDeparted/status/1023370048822378497) ( _wink_ )


End file.
